


A Very Public Problem

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [33]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:07:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephen and Ryan get disturbed during a pleasant morning in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
[](http://fredbassett.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/5480/43667)  


Stephen Hart lounged comfortably on the bed, running one hand lazily through Ryan’s short blond hair whilst the soldier applied his lips and tongue with single-minded determination to Stephen’s cock and balls.

It felt good. No scrub that, it felt amazing. Ryan was using every trick in his considerable repertoire to drive him closer and closer to the brink of orgasm, but each time Stephen thought he was about to come, Ryan pulled back, grinning, and waited for his breathing to return to normal before starting again.

Stephen had tried wriggling and whining. He was now within a hair’s breadth of begging. He could feel Ryan’s hot tongue ghosting over the head of his cock and just when Stephen thought he couldn’t stand one more lick without exploding, his lover pulled back and flipped him over onto his front.

Stephen groaned and spread his legs invitingly. Ryan’s laugh raised the hairs on the back of his thighs and sent a shiver dancing pleasantly up and down his spine. Strong fingers pulled him apart and a warm, wet tongue lapped obligingly at his entrance.

“Fuck me ….. please …..”

Ryan obeyed, but only with his tongue.

Stephen’s heart rate jumped. God, he loved it when Ryan did this. There was no feeling on earth quite so intimate or so intense. A needy whine caught in the back of his throat and turned into the soft mewling that he knew Ryan adored. He was rewarded with a gently probing finger, slick with nothing more than spit. It felt good, but he wanted more. He wanted Ryan’s cock inside him.

“Fuck me … now ….. please …”

Ryan reached out to the bedside table, groping for the bottle he’d tossed there last night after they’d finished laughing at the purple prose of the advertising blurb. They hadn’t actually got round to trying the stuff out yet, although Lyle swore it worked just fine.

Stephen intercepted Ryan’s fingers and twined them with his own. “Leave it,” he breathed. “I can take it ….”

“Not doing you dry, darling, no way,” Ryan’s voice held a disappointing note of finality.

“Please …..”

“Don’t whine.” Ryan emphasised his comment with a sharp jab at Stephen’s prostate which sent a jolt of pleasure through every nerve ending in his body and very nearly took him over the edge into orgasm.

“Again ….. please …..”

Ryan’s finger stroked the puckered skin, teasing slowly in and out of the tight ring of muscle.

Stephen abandoned any pretence at self-control and wriggled backwards, doing his best to impale himself on Ryan’s probing finger.

He craved the fierce burn that would come from a thick cock entering him without lubrication. The soldier had taken him once and once only without any attempt at easing his entry. On that occasion Ryan had taken him in anger. It had hurt and he’d bled, and he’d wanted Ryan to stop, although he’d refused to articulate that at the time. But afterwards, his climax had been so fucking intense that he’d chased that unholy mix of pleasure and pain ever since. He’d fucked Ryan like that a couple of times, with his lover tied to the bed, begging for it, but Ryan had always refused to reciprocate and Stephen knew that the soldier had hated himself for that momentary loss of control and was determined not to repeat anything which had caused real damage. Scruples which Stephen Hart had been determined to overcome ever since.

“Love it when you beg, Hart,” breathed Ryan, nipping at the inside of Stephen’s thigh.

“Then fuck me, you inconsiderate bastard!” Stephen dug his fingers hard into the palm of Ryan’s hand, refusing to let the other man reach out for the lubricant.

“That’s demanding, not begging,” chuckled Ryan, but Stephen knew he’d got something right when his lover obliged with a second finger drier than the first.

It was just starting to hurt, the pain intensifying the feeling in Stephen’s cock and balls as he tried to rub himself against the cotton sheets.

“Come on, Ryan, stop playing around and fuck me! Please …… fuck me dry and I’ll suck you off every night for a week …..”

“You’ll do that anyway, you usually do.”

A thumb burrowed its way in beside the two fingers and started to stretch him. Stephen began to think he was winning. He wanted this. He wanted Ryan buried balls deep in his arse, shagging him so hard that he wouldn’t be able to sit down comfortably for a week, and he didn’t care about the consequences. He’d worry about minor details like that later.

His breath was coming in short gasps now. Using all the strength he could muster, he dragged Ryan’s other hand to his mouth and started to lick and kiss at the soldier’s palm, tasting his sweat, muffling his own needy cries around knuckles other than his own. Then he felt it, the blunt head of Ryan’s cock starting to push slowly into him.

He pushed back, relaxing, letting his lover force himself inside, lubricated with nothing more than pre-come. Arses weren’t designed for this sort of activity, but hell, it still felt good. There was no slip and slide of an easy, well-oiled penetration here. It was rough, and painful and he craved more. He shoved back, grinding his hips against Ryan’s groin, forcing the soldier’s cock deeper into his dry but willing arse. He made a noise somewhere between a whimper and a gasp, which finally succeeded in breaking Ryan’s control. The soldier withdrew slightly, then drove himself forward, his hips slamming his cock home into Stephen’s straining body.

Ryan’s groan almost drove Stephen straight over the edge, and without thinking, he bit down on Ryan’s knuckles, His lover’s hips bucked hard. Stephen felt the drag and burn deep inside his body. He groaned with pleasure. Ryan pulled him over onto his side, pushing one leg up and reaching under it to stroke and pull at his cock.

The sensation was nearly too much. Stephen tried to get a hand down to stop the soldier, but Ryan thrust into him again, slamming against his prostate and pleasure burst inside him with the force of a mortar shell.

Stephen yelled and came, his arse spasming around Ryan’s cock, dragging him over the edge almost immediately. As his lover emptied himself inside him, Stephen felt the burn from Ryan’s cock lessening. The soldier thrust his way through his own climax as he kissed and bit at Stephen’s shoulders, still stroking him through the final tremors of orgasm.

Stephen moaned and writhed against his lover’s chest, one hand groping blindly for Ryan’s, when the sharp ringing of the bedside telephone shattered the mood and caused both men to curse in unison.

“Ignore it, Stringer’s on call,” Stephen panted, intercepting Ryan’s hand and bringing it to his mouth so he could lick the fingers clean of his own come.

“Might be Lester,” Ryan groaned, withdrawing his half-hard cock from Stephen’s arse and glancing down to see if there were any signs of blood.

“All the more reason to ignore it ……”

“Bugger’s not going to go away …...”

Stephen groaned as he adjusted to the loss of his lover’s cock, then his groan turned to a throaty whine as Ryan slid quickly down the bed, and used his warm, wet tongue to search for any damage.

The telephone continued to ring.

“Answer it,” breathed Ryan, then went back to tongue-fucking Stephen.

“You want me to talk to Lester while you’re trying to climb inside me?” Christ, even after six months, Ryan could still surprise him.

“Might be Cutter …..”

Stephen laughed and reached out for the handset. “Hello?” Well, whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t this. “Abby, no of course you’re not disturbing anything ….. we were just …” coherent thought took a short holiday while Ryan’s tongue licked gently around him, then took advantage of his loosened state to slip inside again. “Is there a problem?” Oh Christ, he was getting hard again! He’d just had his brains shagged out, and now he was talking to Abby on the phone, while Ryan tongue-fucked him. And he was getting hard again. He tried his best to concentrate on what Abby was saying. Something about fish and a reservoir. “What does Cutter reckon?” Shit, he’d forgotten, Cutter was giving a paper at a conference in Paris and wouldn’t be back until Tuesday.

He found himself being rolled onto his back again, then a second later, Ryan was embarking on what seemed like a determined attempt to suck his last few remaining brain cells out through his cock. He clamped one hand over the mouthpiece of the phone for a moment in an attempt to round up what was left of his rapidly disappearing composure. “OK, text me the location and we’ll be with you as soon as possible, and in the meantime, be careful and stay out of the water.”

“Water?” Ryan sounded puzzled.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” panted Stephen, dropping the handset, and arching his hips upwards in pursuit of this lover’s lips and tongue.

Ryan laughed then took him in as deeply as he could manage. Two minutes later, Stephen’s mobile phone sounded as its owner hit his second climax in ten minutes, deep down Ryan willing throat. The soldier propped himself up on one elbow, coughing and laughing as the sound of a cat mieowing emerged from the pile of clothes on the floor.

“I’d check what he’s done to yours before you laugh,” muttered Stephen, trailing his hand down his lover’s face and catching some stray drops of come, which Ryan promptly licked off his fingers.

“It trumpeted like an elephant, last time I heard it. Has Abby phoned Lester?”

“He’s not picking up. Off somewhere with Lyle, she reckons. Did I sound half way coherent?”

“No, you sounded like someone who’d just been screwed senseless, if you must know.”

“Did I whine?”

“Only when I started sucking your cock.”

Stephen sighed. He supposed it could have been worse, but at the moment he was hard put to think how. “Come on, soldier boy, duty calls.”  



	2. Chapter 2

Ryan pulled the Range Rover up next to a van bearing an Environment Agency logo.

A harassed looking Water Company employee wearing the universal uniform of blue overalls and a baseball cap asked, “Are you from the Ministry?” and without waiting for a reply jerked his head in the direction of a neat gravel path. “The rest of them are over there on the jetty.”

Stephen nodded his thanks and muttered to Ryan, “I’ve always fancied myself as a Man from the Ministry.”

Ryan grinned, “Don’t give up the day job, darling. Suits aren’t your thing. Anyway, she meant the Min of Ag & Fish, not anything glamorous.”

“They call it DEFRA now,” pouted Stephen.

“Still doesn’t make it glamorous. And don’t pout, or I’ll have to slap your arse.”

“Promises, promises …..”

“Shut up and smile sweetly at the nice ladies and try to lose the just fucked look, Hart.”

Stephen smiled lazily and ran a hand through his spiky black hair, which did nothing whatsoever to make him look more respectable.

Abby gave him a smile that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a Nile crocodile. “Glad you could make it, boys. Did you bring the gear?”

Stephen nodded and gestured back towards the vehicles. “It’s all in there. So why us?”

“This is the third pollution incident this month,” said Claudia, lying with practised ease. “Sir James now considers terrorism to be highly likely, which of course makes it our concern.” She turned to a serious looking woman with wavy dark hair and smiled pleasantly. “We’ll take things from here, Mrs Merrifield, if you don’t mind. If you could speed up the test results on the water, we’d be very grateful.”

The woman nodded and walked off quickly, heading back to the small breeze block building at one end of the reservoir which appeared to contain various types of monitoring equipment.

Stephen raised one eyebrow. “Since when have we been called out to a pollution incident?”

“Since GCHQ picked up on an email which mentioned sparkly lights in the water and sent an alert to Lester’s office,” said Claudia, calmly.

A second eyebrow joined the first, and Stephen whistled through his teeth. “The Government bugs its own departments?”

Claudia sighed. “Monitoring emails is perfectly normal activity. You’d be surprised how careless people can be in that sort of communication. But more to the point, their systems are now set to trigger an alert at just about every possible description of an anomaly that you can imagine. Sifting out the ones that look genuine is fast becoming a full time job.”

“So what about the other incidents?”

“There haven’t been any,” said Abby. “Come on, it looks like Connor’s found something.”

A few hundred metres around the lakeside, Connor was waving his hat in excitement, startling one of the sheep grazing peacefully in a field which separated the reservoir from the road.

Ryan stared around him with a frown, convinced that he’d soon be ordering a road closure or two. The area was far too public for his liking, but at least someone had already ordered it cleared of fishermen, and that had been done with some haste, judging by the number of green umbrellas and keep-nets lying abandoned along the water’s edge.

“It’s down there, I can see it!” called Connor, dancing from one leg to another with enthusiasm.

“Any sign that anything has come through?” demanded Ryan, wishing that he was equipped with something bigger than just the Glock he was carrying in a shoulder-holster under his jacket.

“Nope, just a load of dead fish.” The student waved a hand expansively at the countless number of corpses, small and large, floating of the surface of the water.

“Do you recognise them?”

“Can’t say we’ve been introduced,” said Connor, airily, then in response to a hard stare from Ryan he added, “they look like the sort of thing I’d expect to see in an English river, if that’s what you mean.”

Ryan stared down into the water. The anomaly was maybe four metres down and looked to be just in front of one of the main sluice gates which controlled the water levels in the lake. “I take it all outlets have been closed?”

Claudia nodded. “That was the first thing they did when the fishermen reported seeing dead fish start to appear. This place supplies water to south Bristol, so they weren’t taking any chances.”

“Oh shit,” breathed Connor, suddenly going still and dropping down onto one knee at the water’s edge.

“What?” demanded Ryan, one hand heading for his gun in a smooth, practiced movement.

“The water’s rising …..”

“There’s a level marker over there,” commented Abby, reaching for her phone and starting to dial. “Mrs Merrifield? What’s the normal water level in here? Do you have a record of what it was before the pollution?” She fell silent, still staring over at the depth indicator. “OK, thanks. Yes, please, let me know as soon as the results come through.” She glanced down into the water and nodded. “It’s up by at least a metre in the last two hours.”

“Temperature?” asked Stephen, remembering what had happened in the lake which had provided a temporary home for the mosasaur.

Connor stretched out his hand, only to have it slapped aside by Ryan.

“Look, don’t touch!” hissed the soldier. “We don’t know what killed the fish yet.”

Abby hit last number re-dial on her phone. “Can you give us a temperature reading, please?” A moment later she said, “Thanks, that’s helpful,” and cut the connection. “Several degrees higher normal.”

Everyone turned to look at Connor. The student spread his hands helplessly. “Not much to go on, but my guess is maybe we’ve got sea water coming through, which is probably what’s killing the fish.”

“We’ve got the diving kit with us,” said Stephen. “I can take a look.”

“No sign of creature incursion,” said Ryan, “so no need to take any risks. I’ve already lost one diver and that was one too many.”

Stephen opened his mouth to argue, but found himself forestalled by Claudia.

“Good point, Captain Ryan. I can see nothing in this situation to merit taking a closer look. The results of the water tests should be available shortly. For now I can see no justification for doing anything more than keeping a close eye on what’s happening down there. Have you called for back-up?”

“Ditzy and three of the lads are on their way over from the Forest, ma’am.”

Abby’s phone rang. “Mrs Merrifield? OK, thanks ………..” Abby listened carefully, then asked, “Nothing else?” Before breaking the connection she added, “We’ll get back to you, but for now, no, we say nothing to the Press. Ms Brown will deal with them in due course. Please give the Chief Constable our thanks for his offer. Sir James will no doubt be in contact with him as soon he becomes available. Yes, let us know if the tests turn up anything else.”

“Raised salinity,” predicted Connor, staring down at the dead bodies of numerous fish.

Abby nodded, blue eyes serious. “Yes, but the technicians who ran the tests seem surprised that so many fish have died so quickly.”

“We don’t know how long it’s been coming through,” remarked Claudia. She opened her mouth to continue, then her own phone rang. “Lieutenant Owen? Yes, where are you?” She fell silent. Moments later, a deep frown settled on her normally smiling face. “Yes, go straight there, please. I’ll speak to the Chief Constable and have him clear the beach.”

All eyes swivelled to Claudia.

“Captain Ryan, would you be so kind as to arrange for another team to provide cover here? We appear to have a rather public problem on our hands ……”

“It’s just closed!” interrupted Connor, waving his hand towards the water.

Immediate relief did something to soften the tension on Claudia’s face, but not much. “I’m going to request police back-up for here,” she said, in a voice that brooked no argument. “It’ll give the Chief Constable something to do.”

“You mentioned clearing a beach, ma’am?” said Ryan, calmly.

“Yes, Captain. Connor, get your bucket and spade. We’re going to Weston-super-Mare. Abby, tell Mrs Merrifield and the gentleman from Bristol Water that I want this place sealed. No-one goes near the water. We’re not taking any chances.” With that, Claudia turned on her heel, and headed back to the car.

The men trailed after her, all wearing somewhat bemused expressions.

There were ways in which Claudia Brown resembled Sir James Lester more closely than she realised. Her tendency to work on a need to know basis was one of them.

Abby grinned and followed them, hitting the redial button on her phone as she walked.


	3. Chapter 3

They drove through a police cordon which had effectively brought the busy town of Weston-super-Mare to a standstill and headed out to the sea front.

“James isn’t going to like this one little bit,” muttered Claudia, weaving slowly between lines of stationary cars, ignoring the irate looks being thrown in their direction..

“Where do you think he is?” asked Abby.

“Your guess is as good as mine. He spent last night at the Hotel with Lyle. Mary Mitchell doesn’t think they’ve gone caving or at least if they have, they haven’t left a call out with her and Jim. She’s phoning a couple of the Club cottages in South Wales, just on the off chance that someone has seen them …………. oh dear God!” Claudia’s words trailed off into an awed whisper.

“Oh wow!” Connor exclaimed from the back of the car. “Just like …. wow!”

Claudia pulled up next to a couple of police cars, each with lights still flashing and somehow managed to pull off her Claudia Brown, Home Office routine, whilst a very public anomaly hovered twenty metres up in the air, some three hundred metres out to sea, with water rushing through it in a foaming cascade, tumbling down in a haze of white, to mingle with the brownish waters of the Bristol Channel.

“Get that boat out of the water!” Claudia ordered, pointing to a bright yellow inshore rescue craft, circling cautiously in the vicinity of the what was probably the world’s most improbable waterfall.

A startled policeman dragged his eyes off the sight and hurried off, talking into his radio.

“Not going to be able to keep this one out of the papers,” said Abby, staring out to sea in fascination.

“It’ll be on U Tube already,” said Connor, snapping several photos with his mobile phone, much to Claudia’s irritation.

“Not helping, Conn,” grinned Stephen.

“There are dead fish washing up on the beach, ma’am,” said Ryan, quietly, lowering his binoculars.

“Blows your salinity theory,” said Abby, nudging Connor in the ribs, and gesturing to him to put his phone away before Claudia rammed it somewhere uncomfortable.

He scowled at her, then went back to staring out to sea.

Five minutes later, just when Claudia felt her day couldn’t possibly get any worse, the Chief Constable arrived. Within a remarkably short space of time, she’d decided that perhaps Sir James Lester wasn’t the most annoying man in creation.

The others watched in growing fascination, torn between staring out at the heaving mass of falling water and watching a clash that was fast approaching King Kong v. Godzilla for sheer entertainment value. While a lively debate on the subject of exclusion zones was still being conducted, a Range Rover containing Ditzy, Finn, Kermit and Fiver pulled up and its occupants spilled out, adding to the general incongruity of the scene, although Ryan was relieved to see that they’d at least left any heavy weaponry concealed in the boot. He really didn’t think Claudia’s blood pressure would take much more aggravation.

“Nice morning for it, Boss,” grinned Ditzy. “Miss Brown didn’t sound overly pleased when I told her we’d heard this on the local radio station as we came over the Severn Crossing.”

“I think she’s had better days,” acknowledged Ryan. “Still no sign of Lester?”

“Nope. My guess is Lyle’s dragged him off for a shag somewhere. They’re probably scaring the local sheep right now.”

“Or they’re out of mobile range.”

“That too. What’s that fat fuck over there doing to wind our Claudia up?”

“Refusing to accept that what he’s calling a water spout can possibly be classed as a matter of national security.”

The men went back to watching the argument.

“……. then I suggest you take your objections direct to the Prime Minister.” finished Claudia, playing her trump card.

“Game, set and match!” announced Connor, in a voice which bore insufficient resemblance to a stage whisper for discretion and which promptly drew an irritated glance from Claudia’s uniformed opponent.

The Chief Constable stalked off and started issuing orders. An equally imperious, but somewhat more victorious Claudia, fixed her audience with a basilisk stare and demanded, “I’d like constructive suggestions, and I’d like them now.”

“We need someone to come up with a cover story,” said Stephen. “Connor, can you get me a number for the Press Office of Bristol University?”

Claudia’s eyebrows shot up.

More publicity wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind.

* * * * *

Trust me, Stephen Hart had said, and Claudia had done, even though it had gone massively against the grain, but then he’d waved a bunch of reporters through the cordon and out onto the sea front itself. An unseemly scrummage followed as cameras clicked and whirred, and journalists jostled for position.

Abby laid a reassuring hand on the other woman’s arm. “I think he knows what he’s doing. He says the guy’s an old friend of Cutter’s. Apparently they were at University together.”

“Why don’t I find that particularly reassuring?” muttered Claudia.

“Something to do with national TV coverage in the offing?” hazarded Connor. “This is well cool. Lester’ll go batshit insane when he finds out.”

At exactly that moment, Claudia’s mobile gave a sharp cheep like an irate canary.

Wondering vaguely when Connor had managed to tamper with it, she flicked her phone case open. “James. You got my messages? Yes, we have a situation on our hands. No, I’m told there’s nothing to worry about, Dr. Hart assures me he has it all under control and to prove it, he’s just finished organising a press conference. Yes, James, I did say a press conference. If you’re anywhere near a television, I imagine you’ll find it most instructive.” A slight smile started to hover round the edges of her mouth. “Yes, well, in the absence of yourself and Professor Cutter, we felt the need to improvise. I’m sorry, James, you’re breaking up ….” and with that, she pressed End Call and exchanged a grin with Connor. “I do believe batshit insane was a fair description, Mr. Temple. Less than pleased would, however, have been a politer way of putting it.”

“Serves him right for going AWOL,” smirked Connor.

“Well, let’s hope that Stephen’s faith in this gentleman isn’t misplaced ….” Claudia exchanged a brief smile with a man of about Cutter’s age who was busy swopping pleasantries with various reporters and film crews, several of whom he obviously knew quite well.

“And now, live from the sea front at Weston-super-Mare, we’ve been joined by Professor Bob Starkie of Bristol University. Professor Starkie, what on earth is it that we’re witnessing here and have you ever seen anything like this before?”

“I have, Jerry, but never round the shores of Britain. What we’re seeing here was last recorded about 15 years ago, off the Brazilian coast of South America. If you guys had given me at bit longer to rummage around in my collection back at the office, I could have brought along some photos. What you’re seeing here is a very rare example of a mesocyclone, which is sucking up the water in a vortex, effectively generating its very own, mini electrical storm. You can see the way the lightening is flashing around the apex of the waterspout, creating the illusion that what you’re watching is actually a waterfall originating right in the middle of a very small cloud.”

With a wave of his arm, and some very professional sounding bullshit that would certainly have got Lester’s approval. Bob Starkie continued to expound on the formation of this particular type of water-spout in a way that had the various reporters eating out of his hand.

After the first two minutes, Claudia started to relax.

By the time the man had finished, his audience had shot enough film to keep their various editors happy and the crowd around him had already started to thin out, as the assembled throng rushed to file their copy. Professor Starkie assured them that there was very little chance of damage to people or property being caused, but he stated quite categorically that he applauded the Chief Constable’s decision to clear the beach and create an exclusion zone along the sea front, just in case a shift in the weather pattern drove the water-spout closer inshore. Keeping boats away from it was also a wise precaution, and he recommended that the general public should be kept some way back for several hours, even after it finally disappeared, just for the sake of safety.

At that point, Claudia’s smile began to break though, and she even considered answering her phone again, but then one of the TV reporters who’d been sporting a pair of small but powerful binoculars noticed the dead fish washing up onto the beach and her heart tried to climb out of her throat again.

Professor Bob Starkie laughed reassuringly. “I think you might find you were a bit stunned if you’d been dragged out of your nice cosy ocean then flung back into it with some considerable force. The poor things probably feel like they’ve just gone through a full cycle in an industrial washing machine.”

Claudia’s heart rate started to fall and she exchanged a quick grin with Stephen.

Cutter’s assistant was lounging next to Ryan against the side of the black Hilux, looking both relaxed and amused. She sidled over to him, muttered, “Excuse me, Captain Ryan,” and planted a kiss right on Stephen’s cheek.

He grinned at her. “I told you Bob could carry it off. The media love him. He was all over the tele during the Gloucestershire floods last summer, and he covered the Boscastle disaster as well. If he says it’s a natural phenomena, the press’ll believe him.”

“Looks like they do,” said Claudia, smiling. “Nice one, Stephen. What did you have to promise him in exchange for this little public relations exercise?”

“A case of his favourite Scotch.” And the truth about what they were witnessing. But it was probably better if Claudia didn’t know that, right at this moment. Stephen was intending to leave that to Cutter to deal with when he got back from Paris. And anyway, telling the truth was rather tied up with actually working out what had been going on themselves, although he was beginning to think that Connor might have been making some headway in that department, judging by the furious way the student had been tapping away on the keyboard of his laptop.

Claudia’s mobile phone let out yet another cheep and this time she deigned to answer it. “Mrs Merrifield?” In seconds her frown was back. “Another one? Good God, where?” In answer to Ryan’s questioning look she mouthed the words, “Chew Valley Lake,” then asked, “Underwater again?” When the answer came back in the affirmative, she allowed herself a small sigh of relief. “I’ll send someone over shortly. In the meantime, the same rules apply. Clear the water and clear the area. No, we don’t know what is causing the incidents and we still haven’t ruled out terrorism so far as the reservoirs are concerned Yes, there is still a total press embargo in force.”

“I know why it’s killing the fish,” said Connor, a deeply troubled expression on his face.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” sighed Claudia.

The student shook his head. “Anoxia.” In response to her puzzled look, he continued, “It means water depleted of oxygen. It’s one of the hypotheses advanced as a possible cause of the end-Permian extinction.”

“Call me Miss Fussy, Connor, but I don’t entirely like the sound of a word like extinction.”

Connor gave her an apologetic grin. “Sorry.”

Stephen gave him a gentle dig in the ribs, “Conn, we’re waiting ….”

“Okay, sorry.” He shuffled his feet, nervously. It was all right coming out with theories with Cutter around to tell him if he was talking nonsense, but with the Professor away for the weekend, he suddenly seemed to have been thrust into centre stage. “Right, well, we know sea levels have risen in the past, and there are some really weird chemical patterns in the rocks just above the Permo-Triassic boundary and ….” he coughed, shuffled his feet and started again, this time trying to remember to breathe while he talked. “Most marine animals are adapted to normal oxygen levels, so if the amount of the oxygen in the water drops too low, they’ll suffocate.”

“Shit,” breathed Stephen, a frown drawing his eyebrows even closer together. “So we’ve got a series of Cutter’s fault-line anomalies opening up, pouring out oxygen depleted water from the rising seas of a fucking great big extinction event. Wonderful.”

“Still not liking the E word, Hart,” said Ryan, exchanging glances with Claudia.

“Won’t do much for the fishing industry, if it carries on,” said Connor, with brittle humour, “but look on the bright side, at least it means we’re highly unlikely to get anything nasty swimming through and joining the party.”

“I’ll tell James he can be thankful for small mercies, shall I?” said Claudia, pulling her cheeping phone out of her pocket with great reluctance. “Yes,” she said, in reply to the voice at the other end, “it went rather well, didn’t it? I’ll pass your congratulations onto Stephen, shall I, James?” She caught Stephen’s eye and winked. It wasn’t often that anyone got one over on Lester, and she was determined to enjoy it, in spite of the presence of a large waterfall being photographed for posterity by countless numbers of tourists enjoying a day out in the sunshine.

She then proceeded to outline Connor’s theory, and threw in the sting in the tail of the third anomaly, just for good measure.

The call ended abruptly. Lester would be with them sometime in the next two hours.

She dispatched Connor with Ditzy and Kermit to the new anomaly site.

The rest of them settled down to watch and wait.

* * * * *

Six hours after it had first appeared, water was still pouring through the anomaly in an unabated torrent.

Dead fish continued to be brought in by the tide, washed up like forlorn driftwood.

Lester had arrived, and as ever, Claudia had done a double-take at the sight of him in jeans and a tee shirt, looking almost as and scruffy as his boyfriend. The Chief Constable, who’d insisted on staying to meet the person he’d patronisingly insisted on calling her boss, seemed less than impressed to find himself talking to someone who clearly hadn’t shaved since the previous morning.

Lyle leant on the iron railings which led down to the beach and stared out across the dark sand. “So, it’s still going strong. Any idea how much water has come through since it opened?”

Ryan shrugged. “Hart’s tame expert could probably give you a fair estimate. Seems like the guy knows just about everything there is to know about water. I could probably sum it up pretty accurately, though, without too much bullshit.”

Lyle raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Two bloody much,” interjected Stephen, leaning on the rail next to them. “If it carries on like this, even Bob Starkie is going to run out of enough pseudo-science to keep the press at bay.”

“How long have we got him for?” asked Lyle, glancing appraisingly at the greying, slightly tubby professor, who was still doing a good job of entertaining the remaining reporters.

“As long as it takes. He and Cutter go way back. Shared a room at Uni.”

Lyle’s grin widened.

“You’ve got a dirty mind, Jon,” remarked Lester, running a hand lightly down his lover’s bare arm. “If that thing stays put much longer, I’m beginning to think we might end up testing the fabled broad-mindedness, or lack thereof, of Britain’s seaside landladies.”

“A no expense spared night in Weston-super-Mud?” Lyle whistled appreciatively through his teeth. “You spoil me, darling.”

The sudden cheep of Claudia’s phone cut across the quiet of early evening. “Connor? …… It has? …… Good news. Yes, if you’re certain, come back over here, but check in on the one at Blagdon Lake on the way back, please, just to be sure.”

“Two down, one to go,” muttered Lester.

“It’s not showing any signs of weakening,” said a fresh voice. “It really would be helpful if it would shift along the coast a bit. If it stays in one place like this much longer, even the BBC might start to ask a few difficult questions.”

“Would a large research grant help you find some answers, Professor?” asked Lester.

“Large research grants are always helpful, Sir James,” said Professor Starkie, blandly.

“Splendid. Miss Brown will be only too pleased to arrange one for you. Bristol University’s Department of Hydrology and Water Management clearly has a vital role to play in furthering our understanding of … water-spouts.”

“I have already signed the Official Secrets Act, by the way.”

Lester’s smile broadened. “That’ll certainly cut down on the paperwork for the grant. And if you’re still here tomorrow morning, I’ll make it half a dozen cases of scotch.”

“I might need it as an aid to creativity,” sighed Bob Starkie. “They’re talking about doing a slot on the Richard and Judy show tomorrow.”

Lester winced.


	4. Chapter 4

Just after midnight, Jon Lyle rolled onto his side, and called softly, “James, for God’s sake come to bed and get some sleep. Ryan’s on watch with Stephen until 2am and Ditzy and Connor are taking over then. They’ll bang on the door if anything changes.”

Lester grunted, and carried on staring out of the window.

Out to sea, the anomaly hung in the air, as bright as a politician’s smile, and equally lacking in warmth. It was now fully dark and even though there was still a block on all movement of traffic along the sea front, people still wandered along the road and pavement, eating hot dogs and fish and chips, and snapping photos with phones and cameras. The various hotels and guest houses which boasted a perfect view of what was rapidly becoming the South West’s most popular tourist attraction were all full, and some watchers had even camped out, wrapped in blankets and sleeping bags, determined not to miss a free show.

Lester had pulled rank and commandeered rooms in one of the hotels for the team. Straws has been drawn for who would cover the sites at Chew Valley and Blagdon Lakes, and Finn and Kermit had been the unlucky ones. Professor Starkie was showing every sign of being quite happy to give interviews throughout the night, if necessary, and Lester had had the satisfaction of telling Cutter that, no, they didn’t need him to leave Paris before delivering his conference paper on Monday. It had been the only enjoyment he’d had since picking up Claudia’s increasingly terse messages.

He felt strong arms slide round his waist, and Lyle breathed in his ear, “You’re a stubborn sod, James.”

“I suppose you could say it’s rather pretty,” muttered Lester.

“It’s also killing millions of fish,” said Lyle, reaching down to undo the button of his lover’s jeans.

“If it carries on, that won’t be all it kills. Mr. Temple’s theories aren’t exactly comforting, and I note that Cutter wasn’t rushing to come up with an alternative explanation, on the phone earlier. It would be rather ironic if one of the anomalies managed to transfer a global extinction event across something like 250 million years, wouldn’t it?”

Lyle tugged Lester’s jeans and pants down past his hips and ran a hand over the smooth, bare skin.

“It killed over 96 percent of all marine species. Did you know that, Jon?” Lester carried on staring out to sea, leaning on the windowsill, his forehead resting on the cool glass.

“You’ve been listening to Connor again,” murmured Lyle, dextrously flipping the top off a small plastic bottle, one-handed.

“It even managed to kill off the insects.”

“Can’t have been all bad then,” said Lyle, slipping a slick finger inside his lover’s tense body. “At least the arachnaphobes will be happy.”

“It also killed off 70% of terrestrial vertebrate species.” Lester shuddered slightly as a second finger joined the first. He was too tight for this. The thought of a repeat performance of the world’s most drastic extinction event really wasn’t helping him to relax. Nor was the thought of tomorrow’s call to the Prime Minister. “We’re a vertebrate species, Jon.”

Lyle ran the fingers of his left hand slowly up and down Lester’s backbone, feeling each sharp ridge. “I know that, darling.” He pulled Lester’s shirt away from his shoulder dropped a light kiss onto the pale skin underneath. “And this isn’t going to be what finally does for the human race, trust me on this.”

Lyle withdrew his fingers and quickly slicked his cock.

“What makes you so sure about that?” Lester gasped slightly at the intrusion. He was still too tight. Too tense. He made an involuntary movement forward and found two strong hands holding his hips firmly in place.

“Want me to stop?” Lyle ran a tongue round his ear, punctuating the words with gentle licks and nips.

In answer, Lester pushed backwards, onto Lyle’s cock, ignoring the stretch and burn which hovered all to close to the edge of real pain.

His own cock was hard now, and leaking. The muscles on his arms corded with the effort of holding himself up with Lyle’s weight pressing into him. He couldn’t spare a hand for himself.

Lyle felt Lester’s arse gradually relax around him, and very gently, he started to move, rocking his own hips forward, holding the thinner man tightly against him, while he slid one hand round and ran it up the length of his lover’s cock, stroking the smooth skin, and spreading the moisture out from the tip.

“Do you want me to stop?” repeated Lyle, as he sucked on the skin just under Lester’s hairline. “You can always go back to watching extinction in action, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“Who says I can’t multi-task?” The words were followed by a low groan, as the movements of Lyle’s hands and hips started to speed up. “Fuck me, Jon.”

“Thought that was what I was doing, sweetie,” said Lyle, shoving himself balls deep into an arse that felt tighter than it had ever done. “And if you don’t loosen up, you’ll be spending tomorrow standing up.”

Lester’s breath spilled out of him in something close to a needy whine. “Jon, it’s been called the mother of all mass extinctions, and you’re telling me to relax?”

Lyle pulled far enough back out for him to be able to drip more oil onto his own hard cock, ensuing he was as slick as possible before sliding back home again. “Darling, when my thumbs start pricking, I’ll start worrying, and not before.” His hand slithered carelessly to rest between his lover’s legs, and he played gently with Lester’s balls, while he sucked and nipped his way around the back of a very sensitive neck.

Sir James Lester drew in a deep breath and tried to relax, letting Lyle make love to him in the soft glow from the yellow streetlamps, while trying to rid his over-crowded mind of every unfortunate fact that he’d picked up from Connor in what had been a long, and undeniably fraught evening.

The soldier reached up with one hand to play with Lester’s nipples, knowing exactly how hard to nip to send small sparks of pleasure shooting right to the tip of his lover’s already over-sensitised cock.

Lyle set up a slow rhythm, each time pulling all the way out, then sliding back in to the root, brushing tantalisingly against Lester’s prostrate in a way that made him arch his head backwards, eyes tightly closed, breath coming now in sharp inhales and exhales that clouded the glass of the window. He was getting closer and closer to the edge, but Lyle’s fingers were tightening now around the base of his cock, holding his orgasm back as the soldier ruthlessly drove himself into a body that still trembled with tension.

Lester twisted his head, seeking Lyle’s lips. A tongue swept across his mouth, tasting faintly of the whisky that they’d found in the mini-bar.

“Harder …” he breathed, eyes still tightly closed. “Let me come, Jon, please …”

“Only if you promise to stop worrying about minor inconveniences like extinctions and start trusting me.” Lyle was surprised at how even his own voice sounded. Especially as he was with a hair’s breadth of his own orgasm.

“Do trust you …”

“Then let go … forget the fucking waterfall … just come …”

Lester’s climax hit him low in his abdomen, tightening his balls and sending a spurt of come over the wallpaper. Lyle angled himself for one final deep, hard stroke, directly at his lover’s prostate. Lester’s groan turned into a whimper, and abruptly the tension left his body. His arms went limp, and it was only Lyle stronger arms around his waist that kept him upright.

As each new tremor hit his body, he cried out, arse clenching around Lyle’s cock. He felt a long sigh of completion against the back of his neck, along with something that sounded all too much like a self-satisfied chuckle. Letting himself lean back and enjoy the feeling of Lyle’s cock softening inside him, Lester finally opened his eyes and stared out of the misted up window. He frowned and brought a come-splattered hand, smearing his own bodily fluids onto the glass in a vain attempt to clear his line of vision.

“Told you to relax and trust me,” said Lyle, doing nothing to disguise the smirk in his voice. With one hand, he reached out and hammered on the wall separating their room from the one occupied by Ryan and Stephen. “Oi, wake up, you unobservant buggers!”

The door to the hotel room opened a crack, and Stephen’s voice came in from the corridor. “Didn’t want to disturb your fun. It vanished a few minutes ago.”

“I know,” grinned Lyle. With his lips pressed against Lester’s ear, he breathed, “Told you there was nothing to worry about if my thumbs weren’t pricking.”

“I’ll tell that to the PM tomorrow, shall I?” panted Lester, staring out over a pleasantly dark expanse of sea, while Lyle gently licked the back of his neck.

“Can we go and see Blackpool Illuminations next?” asked the soldier, hopefully. “I like pretty lights.”

“No we can’t and I don’t,” muttered Sir James Lester, twisting round in his lover’s arms and brushing a kiss across Lyle’s lips. “In fact, I’m even thinking of banning Christmas tree lights. Now if you don’t mind, I intend to retire to bed.”

“Randy little sod,” muttered Lyle, affectionately. “Give me five minutes, and I’ll see what I can do to oblige.”

Lester laughed and twisted round in Lyle’s arms for a deep kiss. “I think I’ll take tomorrow off. The ever capable Ms Brown can deal with the PM, for once.”


End file.
